


Unexpected

by ravengabrielle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: Dramione FanFiction Forum, Community: dramionedrabble, Forced Marriage, Marriage Law Challenge, POV Hermione Granger, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24782257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravengabrielle/pseuds/ravengabrielle
Summary: Marriage Law in effect known as the Lineage Act. It has paired up many high profile couples of opposite blood status to join together for a future with magic. Hermione has been given the news of a lifetime. But things with her husband have taken a turn. She is uncertain whether she will continue to be a Malfoy mistress or a forgotten hag in their bloodline. (Dramione)
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 172
Collections: Dramione





	Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a little something to shake up my writing routine. Stockholm is still being written and updated. I got in a bit of a slump. So this work freshened up my mind with some ideas. Hopefully it is not god-awful that you un-follow! I am still on the fence about being in love with it or just ehhh.

### Unexpected

Hermione stared at the two pink lines as they appeared on the white stick that she’d pulled from between her legs over a toilet four minutes prior. She scanned the package once more. Two lines was a positive result.   
Pregnant.  
Tears formed in her eyes as she buttoned her trousers and washed her hands. The ice-cold sting only paralyzed their trembling for a minute. A short minute.  
She emerged from the loo to three expectant pairs of eyes: Ginny Potter with whom she made eye contact with first, Pansy Parkinson, and Narcissa Malfoy. They were silent in her entry. None gave a hint of emotion. Their eyes stayed curious and fixed to the test in hand.  
There was a weight in her heart that she’d never felt before. The reality of a positive pregnancy test was beyond her comprehension. A baby resided within her womb that very moment, eating her food, breathing her air, forming little body parts, and gaining features that she would one day come to recognize as her own child.   
The silence underwhelmed the least patient of all.  
“Well?” Pansy snapped. “What did it say?”  
Hermione nodded her head slowly and took in a rather struggled breath. “I am.”  
Their faces uplifted into nothing but cheer. Ginny suddenly wrapped her arms around Hermione’s neck with a delighted chuckle. “I knew it!” She declared. “I knew it would happen.”  
Pansy was the next to express her congratulations. “Well of course you’re with child. Look at how you’ve been eating lately.”  
The other witch, older and very much wiser, pinched Pansy’s arm until she yelped.  
“Hush, now. That’s no way to speak to a witch.” Her blue eyes caught Hermione’s gaze. “Especially not my daughter in law. She carries a Malfoy in there. She can eat all the food she wants.”  
Narcissa Malfoy was a mother-in-law she never expected. She was kind and supportive. After the initial tension of passing the family name to a muggleborn was overcome – mostly the anxiety of what changes might come to the Malfoy family – Narcissa and Hermione bonded over books fabulously.  
Narcissa was a well-read witch. She stocked the Malfoy family library with almost every book known to wizarding kind. It filled the days as a mistress with no other profession in life other than to host charity balls and raise her children.   
She was the one who comforted Hermione upon arrival to the new home within Malfoy Manor. Hermione had been terrified. Memories from the war flooded her upon sight of the place where she was tortured. The halls often echoed the sound of Bellatrix’s maniac laughs. It reigned unstoppable horror over the newly entered Malfoy relation for months until Narcissa sewed the wounds that were not hers to repair. She was patient. Hermione was spoiled with time and solitude and comfort for all her desires.  
The luxury that came at Malfoy Manor did well enough to repair the wounds of the war. Though, it was her marriage that required the most work of all.  
The war with Voldemort had cost many lives. Magical blood was spilled, wasted. There were so few families before the start of the second war that after, the community was devastated. Officials calculated the numbers of the population with a dismal future of the eventual disappearance of magical peoples altogether.   
The new Ministry of Magic appointed an entire new department – Magical Continuation – to ensure a future that was littered with many bright new magical children. There were programs given to new parents to care for and tend to children, pay for their care and schooling before magical learning. New parents were given support staff, extra expansion spells for their homes to make room for their new babes.  
But the population was still so divided.  
The pureblood population, a part of the wizarding world that held quite a number despite the circumstances, was reluctant to intertwine amongst half bloods or muggleborns. Romance did not inspire the outcome it did in previous generations.  
In dire circumstances breeds strong results.  
Through the quiet enaction of a new law that required copulation between magical lines was born the assignment of marriage partners. Random letters were set in a first wave of notices of engagement. No choices given.   
It was of great discussion that Harry Potter, of the Auror department, was given his preference as Ginny and him were already engaged to be married. The rest of the world was not so lucky. Daphne Greengrass was married to Neville Longbottom. Luna and Dean were married, too. Seamus married Padma Patil, the poor witch was drafted into the service of preventing Seamus from killing himself in an explosion.   
Then came the first shock (if the initial law wasn’t counted): Pansy Parkinson and Ronald Weasley were paired. It rocked London when the news broke. Their engagement was headline news. It was also noted how long their engagement was permitted to last. An entire eighteen months! Couples beforehand were given only three months to wed.  
Hermione’s world was tossed upside down at having to interact with the Slytherins outside of Hogwarts. She and Harry would accompany Ron to his meetings with Pansy, whom brought almost her entire house along. It was amongst those strangers – that’s who they were to her – she discovered the match made for her: Draco Malfoy. He’d received the Owl just before arriving.  
That was only six months ago. They were married not long after.  
“Why wait?”  
A Malfoy marriage contract was already drawn up from the moment Draco turned thirteen should he be offered courtship from another pureblood witch, it was imperative to have a contract already written. Lucius Malfoy drafted the agreement himself. It was sealed in family magic. It was the law of the house. Every requirement had to be met in the time allotted or else, the Manor would reject the witch as mistress and the marriage would be nullified.  
Therein lied their problem.  
Hermione was wrapped in a firm embrace of her mother-in-law’s arms. “I’m so proud.”  
When the embrace was finished, Narcissa wiped the quiet tears from Hermione’s cheeks. They were warm as they smeared.   
The witch gave that all-knowing mum look that every mother had. And every child knew. It was comfort. It was the first time since the start of the madness that she allowed herself to settle in its calm.  
“Well what are you waiting for?” Ginny asked excitedly. Her voice was loud and a shock. Hermione stood wide-eyed, frozen in place. “Go tell Draco the news!”  
Her hands still trembled. The news was all so sudden. She barely had time to grasp it herself.  
“He’s at work. I reckon he’s busy.”  
“To hell with his schedule. Hermione, you’re pregnant! It’s all about you now,” Pansy said.  
That was just the opposite of what Hermione wanted. “It can wait until I see him next. He visits on weekends. Until it is all sorted…”  
Her voice trailed off to silence.   
Draco was a missing figure in her life. He came and went at different intervals. His distance was rather heartbreaking. The way he shifted around and avoided her gaze was difficult to bear. It had her in sobs for hours after he left the Manor.  
She was convinced that she would wait until he came to her when a soft hand touched her shoulder. It was a pair of glistening blue eyes framed in blonde hair. “Now is not the time to be timid, my darling. You must fight now. Fight for your marriage, fight for your child. Fight for my son. He knows not the treasures of true love, and I fear if Lucius has his way, he never shall.”  
It was a lie to say that she was not scared. She was terrified.   
But her mind was made up when a cloak was placed overtop her dress and the Floo powder scooped into the depth of her palm. The bitter dust puffed to her nose and mouth in a cloud. She coughed a portion of it away.  
Pansy grimaced as she replaced the powder. “Remember, my wedding is in a month and you’re both members of the wedding party. We can’t have you going through a divorce on the happiest day of my life.”  
A slap echoed throughout the room of Malfoy Manor. Ginny glared at her future sister-in-law with a swallowed fury.   
“Go get him, Mione.” Ginny gave a show of support. “Drag his self righteous arse back home.”  
Narcissa gave a sincere smile and a gentle wave of goodbye.   
Hermione was swallowed up in green flame. The Floo transported her all the way back to London. She was squeezed into a tiny stream of consciousness and reanimated back in a hall of many fireplace Floos as she could see. The dark tile alley was within the Ministry itself.   
Malfoy Manor had direct access to the Ministry of Magic since Draco was on the Board of Governors and the Wizengamot. He was given a one-way ticket right into the heart of the building. As were many other employees of faraway locations. The ones in London used local stops like restrooms and phone booths as their entrance to work.  
Hermione stepped out of the sooty hearth. Her hair was thick with black grime. She waved her wand over her entire dress of simple white fabric littered with broad sunflowers and small straps over her shoulders. The silver cloak she wore was a gift of her husband on their wedding day. What she loved about it was the unusual sleeves of the cloak. It covered her lengthy scar down her forearm.  
The hall was sparse with wizards and witches. It was late morning. Most still worked in their offices.  
However the deeper she walked into the Ministry, the more employees she saw. Arthur Weasley worked close to the entrance. He often visited Ron in the Auror offices to deliver Molly’s homemade lunches. Hermione had delivered a fair few to him, too, since Ron refused to awaken for work at an appropriate time. He liked to roll out of bed, slip into a pair of trousers and Floo off to work at the very last minute.  
The office of the Wizengamot was on the other side of the building, up nine levels. She passed by many departments on her way. The busiest department which held its own floor of the Ministry was the Department of International Magical Cooperation. It was a fascinating study. More than once, Hermione thought she might like to venture to a foreign place as an ambassador for Britain.  
There was a Ministry in Bulgaria that she was very interested in before she was married. Viktor Krum worked within Bulgaria’s Ministry of Magic Magical Games and Sports department. He continued his play in the professional league of Quidditch but became more driven for a career apart from the game.   
Naturally that led him into the Magical Games and Sports department.  
The tension bubbled beneath Hermione’s skin as she walked. Eyes of the Ministry turned to her. It was not often that Hermione entered the Ministry anymore. She’d created an organization that assisted Magical Creatures through social support and programs. It was funded by the Ministry, but it was separate from their centered building.   
Thoughts turned to Draco. He was encouraging of her cause. In the course of their marriage, he donated much from the Malfoy family investments toward her organization. It added extended support for newly developed centaur herds up north. There were funds to diagnose and treat diseases throughout the population of magical creatures. Werewolves were given stipends of Wolfsbane potion to ensure their monthly changes were as protected as possible. Elves were given safe means to report employers for discriminating practices.  
Her heart thudded as she ascended the winding stair to the personal offices of the Wizengamot. It was dark and cold. Something about the place gave her a sinking feeling in her gut. It was impending doom she felt. Darkness.   
Part of her believed it was the association with Voldemort and the Ministry that ruined the place for her.   
Second, it was the tension of the news that she carried. A pregnancy was expected of couples bound under the marriage law or the Lineage Act. Most were given a few years to produce their first offspring. More benefits were given with each pregnancy. It was a shame that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hadn’t had the same support when they started their family. The lives of their children might have been more comfortable, the budget less tight.   
The muggle pregnancy test rested in her pocket. It bumped against her thigh with each step. A lovely little reminder that she was no longer a single being, but now two in the place of one.   
The fact that she had been a virgin only six months prior and now was ripening a child within her womb was shocking. It being Draco Malfoy to cause both those things was more so the shock.   
Hermione had not loved the idea of a marriage law. She fought hard for the right of choice. It was choice which lived all freedom. However, the concern over pureblood lineage and the decreasing number of magical peoples left little debate to be said. Magic deserved to be preserved. How else were bias’s overcome without force?  
Draco suggested their quick marriage after the announcement of their engagement from the Ministry because it only delayed the inevitable. They agreed, together, that the engagement was trivial. Hermione believed it was only for social standards anyway. Engagements gave the couple the chance to acclimate for the marriage while not being yet legally bound. There was the choice of breaking off an engagement. Through the marriage law, there was no such option.   
It was set in stone. The marriage would take place.  
They took the necessary steps before marriage. Draco stepped into the muggle world to be introduced to her parents. He was formal. Overly. It was uncomfortable how much he remembered his manners in her presence, as she was accustomed to the word ‘mudblood’ from his lips regularly.   
Then came the upsetting moment of being formally introduced to his mother and father, both she’d met in the past under unseemly circumstances. One of which being tortured and permanently scarred within their family home.  
Lucius, however, was only there in spirit as he was placed in Azkaban after the war. His portrait did well enough to scowl in disapproval. It was much the same as it would have been had he truly been there.  
The outline of his doorway came into view. Light white letters hovered within the middle of the glass. Draco Malfoy. Wiltshire. Arrival in ten minutes.   
He was not in.  
She let herself inside the office to wait. It was opened by the charm that allowed her to enter when he was not there. The only person permitted.   
It was a large space with gray walls, a desk crafted completely of clear glass, white plush carpet floors and a sterile environment suited for business negotiations. A small bookshelf rested next to a long leather couch in the back corner. It was filled with classic book titles of a muggle variety: Anna Karina, Edgar Allen Poe, Crime and Punishment, The Great Gatsby.   
The book cover of The Great Gatsby was worn. Edges of the lettering blurred. The binding was fragile as it opened. The pages shifted. She closed the book with great care and returned it to its place.  
Hermione had not realized that Draco read muggle literature. The Great Gatsby had been one of her favorite novels as a young teen. Her copy of the title was in similar shape, so it was replaced with a copy that she now read from to keep the original copy intact.   
She made her way around to the neatly organized desk. It was clear that it was Draco Malfoy’s realm. He kept his belongings in assigned sections. All the edges of paper were in line. His quills all sat in a holder just off the right side where they were in comfortable reach. The glass gave little hints to the smudge of fingerprints, something that also did not surprise her. He probably cleaned it each time he left.  
There was a sharp twinge in her belly as she moved about the room. She sensed his arrival. Something in the atmosphere changed from serene calm to impending explosion.   
Days had passed since she’d seen her husband. If she could even call him that anymore.  
She swallowed when his hand turned the knob.   
Draco Malfoy entered very much the wizard that she knew him to be. He was quiet. A black suit with black tie and black shirt beneath were his business wear, for just about every occasion presented to him. He’d allowed his hair to grow longer since their days at Hogwarts. It was styled back in a muggle fashion. Stylish.   
His eyes were the same powerhouse. They landed on her with power. The sudden disbelief in their path dulled with precision.   
He paused. His hand rested on the handle of the door, just waiting to run off in the other direction.   
She thought he might smile when he saw her there, but nothing emerged through the stoic indifference he always wore. He overcame whatever emotion it was and closed the door with a sharp snap.  
He did not look at her again.   
“What are you doing here?” He asked her as he made his way to his desk.   
She moved aside. His tone edged on dangerous. Perhaps it was a bad idea to come. She should have waited.  
Hermione swallowed. “I – I want to talk about something.” His silence was all that answered. The silence of his breath while he scanned through pages upon pages at his fingertips. “You never come home anymore. I had to come here just to see you.”  
“I’m busy.”  
That was it? That was all he was going to give her. He was busy?  
The lost edges of her temper started to rise up through the surrounding numbness she’d felt the day she heard of the Lineage Act. The hopelessness of the power that was a government so blind that they allowed themselves to be infiltrated and controlled by a murderous maniac all so that their lives might not be interrupted. Now, they dared control the youth that restored that power to them.   
She was a war hero. She bore the scars of the mistakes of the entire wizarding world.   
Draco Malfoy was not busy. She was going to have his attention.  
Hermione reached out and swiped the things from his desk. Their clatter and crash filled the room with a sudden wave.   
Her husband sat, still unmoved, in his chair.  
“Now that your business has been cleared. It looks like we have time to chat,” she spat with fire. Oh, she was on fire now. Her fingers filled with a sudden strength. “I’d just like to know what the hell is wrong with you? Is this how a noble Malfoy treats his wife?”  
His fists turned white against the glass desktop. “My, now is not the time for this.”  
“Oh, no. No. I’m not being silenced again. I’m not taking any of this as an answer! Look me in the eye. If you’re going to be wizard enough to announce it to the whole Ministry, you can have the balls to look your own wife in the eye and tell her you’re divorcing her.”  
Draco was not a man to keep his temper. He was controlled to an extent, but it reached ends very quickly.  
"Can we just discuss this at home?” He said through ragged breaths. His control was almost lost.   
She didn’t care. Her fear was long abandoned when she married him.   
“When?” She questioned swiftly. Her shoulders raised. “When can I expect you to be home, Draco? Next week? Next month?”  
He raised a finger. “That’s not fair and you know it.”  
“Not fair?” She echoed. Her voice broke a little. When had life ever been fair? She was torn from all she knew to be married to him for the better of the world, and all he could muster was ‘it’s not fair’?  
Tears fell down her cheeks in rapid succession. She hated them for being so easy to coax out. In moments when she needed strength and anger and frustration, her body gifted tears.   
She chuckled sardonically as wet drained down her face. “What about any of this has been fair? At least, I have the courage to see it through.”  
Draco’s nostrils flared. “I do too have courage.”  
“If you had a shred of courage you wouldn’t have ran away the second it got tough!”  
“What do you expect me to do?” His voice suddenly roared through. “What do you expect? I can’t just sit idly by as my entire marriage is torn from me because of stupid contracts that matter more than my freedom of choice! I’ve fought for us. Every single day. I am working my arse off to prevent our marriage from being annulled. Day in and night out, I am over this table trying to find some way that you won’t be taken from me.”  
Hermione felt like he’d just struck her with a bat. She blinked multiple times to see if it was really true. Was she in his office? Has she dreamed this up? Was her mind having a stroke?  
“What?” She gawked.   
Not matter how much she blinked, he was still there. Angry and tense. Disappointed as he stared down at his scattered work.  
“This damn contract is going to ruin everything.” Draco shook a stack of papers in his hand until they all fluttered to the floor. His hands raked through his hair. The tension in his face heightened as he surveyed the damages on his floor. “I’m not going to win this one, am I?”  
She didn’t know what to say.   
“All this time, I thought you …” She didn’t want to finish what she thought of him.   
Divorce. She thought he hated her. He wanted her to leave. That he could not stand the idea of a muggleborn wife.  
His eyes found hers in an icy grey storm. “Thought I what?”  
“I thought you hated me that I wasn’t what you thought I might be.”  
Draco’s face fell. “How could you think that?”  
She hated the way the hurt worked across his face. The lack of sleep was real apparent under his eyes. The paling of his flesh, which she couldn’t believe was possible, was grey and sickly. Now she saw just how significant the change in him was.  
He’d been working himself to death.  
Hermione crossed the room closer to him, daring to touch his shoulder for a bit of comfort. He pulled away from her, now angry.  
“After everything? After all we’ve done together and all we’ve overcome because bloody pureblood mentality, you think I want to be rid of you because you can’t serve me?” She saw the water in his eyes. The unsurmountable tide of hurt there rose higher and higher. Draco stiffened his upper lip. “Have you learned nothing about who I am?”  
“It’s only been six months, Dray. I’m not a damn mind reader! You took off. Abandoned me two months ago and I’ve barely seen you since,” she said. “What the hell was I supposed to think?”  
His jaw clicked shut.  
Draco turned away from her. His fists shook with rage.   
“You have to talk to me. You have to tell me what is going on. I may be smart but I’m not a Seer. I can’t predict what you’re feeling or hear what’s in your mind. You have to include me.”  
His back was rigid. The joints of his neck popped as he flexed it one way, then another.  
She fought against the urge to keep talking. The silence filled them up. It was full of tension and a bit of rage. Draco may be angry at her for not thinking better of him, but she was just as angry for him shutting her out.  
If he was fighting as hard as he said, he should have told her. She knew how to fight. Her heart never tired when it came to fighting the fight for good.   
The Ministry fell quiet. It was unusually so. She glanced at the clock upon the wall. It was noon. The rest of the place was out at lunch. Most of the Wizengamot left at noon for their homes. It was not a steady hour job. They were called in at all hours to handle situations. So the daily routine of reporting for work only lasted until lunch, when they fled back to their estates to fill the rest of their days with bourbon and paperwork.   
Hermione’s stomach growled at the thought of food. She was a ravenous eater since the start of her pregnancy. Anything and everything made her crave copious amounts of food.  
The noise shattered Draco’s concentration. His body relaxed out of his thoughts and brought him back to the moment.  
“You should go to lunch,” Draco said. It was in a summoned amount of pleasantness that she knew he could muster when he felt anything but pleasant.  
“Join me,” she said.  
He looked down at all the papers he likely needed to review. “Not like it is going to matter is it? We’ve only got a month left before the contract goes into effect. Might as well enjoy the last of it.”  
Although the continued stare of the work on the ground convinced Hermione otherwise.  
“I shall not mind if you bring it along.”  
He let out a sigh. “Noted.”  
A wave of his wand filed the papers neatly in a single stack that landed within his grasp. She watched with a bit of pride. He was a dedicated wizard when he wanted to be.   
Draco took her hand and they exited the Ministry to a cute muggle restaurant in a small space. It was a place she’d never been in. She was uncertain it would serve much of what she liked by the lack of statement that it was indeed a restaurant and not a boutique shop.   
“Roganic?”  
They were seated alongside the window. Their table was fitted with a simple white tablecloth. The dark wood chairs were rustic. Draco pulled her seat out and waited for her to sit.   
It was one of the few times they dined out since their courtship. The restaurants were of typical magical quality and not muggle. She was surprised he even found the place so deep in muggle London.  
The waiter asked for their drinks. Draco ordered a pint and a water. She just asked for a lemonade. Her tongue wanted tart sour tastes. It actually demanded she ask for lemon added to the lemonade. The waiter was baffled by her request but obliged with several additional slices of lemon.  
“Very peculiar choice for lunch, Dray.” She sipped the extra strong lemonade. It tasted so brilliant. She tipped back the glass and swallowed the remaining drink as fast as she could. Godric, she wanted more.  
Draco signaled the waiter to bring another.  
“How’d you find this place anyway?”  
He sipped his pint for a moment more. “I thought it might make a nice place for a date. Once all this was sorted.” He sneered. “I guess I was a bit too optimistic then.”  
The waiter set down another plate of lemons for Hermione to peruse. She smiled. “Thank you.”  
“What can I get for you two this afternoon?” The waiter placed his hands behind his back. He leaned in close to hear the selection.  
But they were given no menus. Hermione glanced at Draco with question.  
“The full tasting menu shall do,” Draco said.  
It was apparently an order because the waiter accepted it without question.  
Hermione settled back. “So tell me what you’ve been up to these couple months. Where have you been staying?”  
He lifted a brow. “I told you. I’ve been working all day and night breaking my father’s contract.”  
It took her a moment to follow.   
“You mean to say you’ve been staying at your office?” She gasped.  
“I do not sleep much. I close my eyes on the couch for a few hours before I get back to work.”  
The degree of fancy in the restaurant prevented her from raising her voice but it did not tamper the irritated disbelief she felt.   
No wonder he looked like hell!   
“Why couldn’t you come home at night to get some rest? You didn’t need to stay locked in your office.”  
His eyes gazed out to the street. Muggles walked to and fro. There were many in business attire, surely returning from their lunch hour back to their workplace. The Ministry gave the Wizengamot members wide berth in the hours of which they worked, so there was little concern of when Draco might be expected to return.   
He was lost in the sight out the window. Something about the motions of the public as they walked throughout their lives interested him enough to keep him withdrawn from his own plate. He remained passive. The emotion, the appeal of the passersby confused her.  
She reached across the table and touched his hand. “Dray?”  
“Do you remember during the war when you...when you were captured and brought home? To the Manor, I mean.”  
The mention of the incident brought a storm of conflicting emotions. She remembered every second of that time in Malfoy Manor. The stench of Bellatrix’s breath, the creak of the boards under her body, the dark shadows, the coldness in the air. It was all so vivid that she transported back to that moment in an instant.  
Of course, she told the Ministry that she recovered from her torture. They pressed her through a few weeks of counseling until they were convinced, she no longer carried the trauma of the war crimes committed against her.  
It was a fallacy to believe it possible to repair the damage. It would be there. Forever. The darkness haunted everyone it covered at one point. Harry wore his share of trauma. Being killed was a surreal experience that he was blessed to recover from but still felt in his heart all the same.   
Draco himself carried wounds of the war. He was bound up together than any lock she knew. Before the war, he was one to keep himself rather guarded but now it was impossible for him to release control of himself. The outburst in his office was the first explosion he had in the entire course of their marriage. Silence. It was his new mechanism. That was all that answered the letter of their legally bound engagement.  
Silence.  
“Of course,” she answered in a quiet tone.  
He noticed the change in her. “Do you remember the moment that Bellatrix broke you? The moment where your body went limp, your fight gone, the moment you accepted death?”  
The air turned hot. She shivered amongst its dense fog. Her lungs begged from breath, but she forgot how to breath.   
She gulped back a swallow full of lemonade. “She didn’t break me. I just couldn’t go anymore. I’d been so exhausted when I was caught that my body gave up. The fight was still there.”  
“But you do know the moment?”  
“Sure.” She looked away and blinked back the emotion that the witch’s name summoned. The curse forever being plagued by the memory. Hermione was stronger than Bellatrix, but it stabbed the knife back in her arm whenever her name was managed to surface.  
His eyes turned away from the window. “I imagine it feels like what I feel like now.”  
Hermione was almost rattled enough to be insulted. “What?”  
“You’re my wife, My. For better, for worse which is fair to say we’ve already battled. This was supposed to be our better. When that bloody Ministry enacted this Lineage Act, they brought together families. They made the world whole. And I was given the second chance that I’d accepted would never come.” His eyes fell to his hands. The faint touch of her fingertips still touched his palm. He cradled her palm in his. “Once again, that chance is slipping away. Because of tradition. Who’d have thought a Malfoy would be broken by tradition?”  
Hermione licked her lips. “But why? What does that stupid contract have to do with us now? The Ministry is in greater power than anything Lucius could have made.”  
He shook his head. “It’s the house. The family magic. It won’t accept you. It’ll deny our marriage. All what we’d work for would never come to you. The vaults would never allow your entry. You’ll be stranger to all Malfoy holdings.”  
“Because of my blood status?”  
The waiter appeared through a narrow doorway. Two trays rested in hand. They were laden with small plates.   
Each of them were given three first starting plates topped with a single bite. Hermione was left a little unsatisfied with the presentation. One bite would not satisfy the carnage that her body demanded.  
She’d eaten each bite in two minutes after the waiter arrived while Draco seemed to cradle each piece on his tongue.   
She rolled her eyes. “It’s one bite. Just swallow it.”  
Draco casted a sharp glare as he swallowed. “You’re supposed to let the flavors meld on the tongue before consuming. Don’t you know anything about a tasting menu?”  
“Do I give off the airs that I eat at restaurants like this?” She snorted. “I prefer cafes and really good pubs.”  
He clicked his tongue. “Why am I not surprised?”  
His wife was less refined than he was. Even to the point where he believed her a peasant in squalor before he was introduced to her family home and the two parents whom provided a comfortable life with their careers. There were not luxurious accommodations in the Granger household, but they were not destitute. A steady budget allotted them the ability to travel on holiday and afforded many experiences that a family with a larger, frivolous spending habit might not have the ability to.  
Hermione adopted her parent’s beliefs of modest spending and large savings. She did not splurge.   
Such to say, it was impossible as Malfoy’s wife to understand a true budget anymore. There was money from one vault enough to fund the entire Ministry, then there were other vaults upon vaults. That did not include the large assets that were easily worth double, or, most likely, triple the cash amount in their funds.   
Draco was baffled at her need to withhold from buying things she wanted. It was an idea that he struggled to understand. There was never a reason to deny. Everything in the world was affordable to a Malfoy.   
The concept of fitting rooms was totally another language. He just purchased an entire trolly full of business attire that Hermione had planned on eliminating down to three outfits. Now she had the ability to wear a new one every day of the week for nine months.  
They ate a few more courses in delighted silence. A few comments on the exquisite taste of one or another was the length of the conversation.  
The lunch crowd filtered out. A soft silence came to the restaurant. The wait staff went about their duties of cleaning and scrubbing tables and chairs. The bar was restocked.  
Draco watched them work, as if examining everything. The muggle world was another place for him. His parents denied much exploration of the muggle world for their curious son. Now, it was his turn, as an adult, to learn of what awaited outside the walls of his own home.  
Hermione left him alone in his discovery. She did not want to crowd his pride and risk having it lash out in insult.   
“How come you’ve not ever told me of what Lucius demands of your marriage?” She found herself asking after dessert. “Why can’t I know what’s in the contract?”  
He went rigid in his seat. His hands gripped the tablecloth gently from their resting positions against the edge. “It is nothing that you should concern yourself with. They are not things that you must adhere to. The world is a different place than when it was written.”  
“But, it does. It does concern me.”  
It was her marriage, too. It was her life.   
“One month is not enough time. Even if I told you, there is no way to make the contract honor our marriage.” He ran a hand down his face. “It’ll have us annulled without any choice. I’ve fought with the old magical law department for weeks about repealing these archaic customs that are magically forged. I was not given a choice. It was done without permission and I won’t stand for it.” It was clear how agitated it made him. His tone changed the longer he spoke of it. “My wife. My life. My honor. It will be stripped away when this contract sets.”  
“Is there nothing I can do?” She pleaded.   
The last thing she wanted was a divorce. Annulment was just a sensitive way to say divorce in a world that looked down upon the act. It was a muggle creation, not wizard. Or so they believed.  
His eyes looked up at her with the most sadness she’d never seen. “Nothing. We’re forced to endure the liquidation of our union. It’ll only be a matter of time before the Ministry assigns us new partners.” His voice went soft as a whisper. “We’ll be forced apart.”  
Her heart sank in the depths of her intestines. She felt the heavy shaking that was due to turn into sobs any minute. Her eyes drifted to her lap.   
Don’t cry. Don’t cry in this restaurant. Don’t you dare cry, she chastised.  
As she bathed in the wave of such a tsunami of her life, the waiter came to ask of tea. Draco agreed. He ordered his choice. The dark eyes of the waiter turned on her.  
She ran a hand through her straightened locks. “Uh, decaf if you’ve got it.”  
Godric. Her marriage was ruined. She was pregnant without a marriage. What would her mum say?   
Her eyes filled with another course of tears. What kind of life would there be for a child with no father? She, a single parent? She’d have to work every day to support themselves. Where would the baby go? To the Manor? To the Burrow? She supposed she could ask her mum if there was a way that her parents might provide some childcare. If she worked at night.  
Hermione heaved in a rugged breath. The weight of the world crushed her now. It was too much.   
Draco gave her a curious glance as the waiter walked away. “Decaf? You’ve always told me how much you hate the stuff.”  
“I know.”  
“On and on about how decaf is not true tea.”  
She nodded through the mounting tears. “I know. I know. It’s disgusting.”  
The steaming cup was placed in front of her. The smell revolted her, but she knew it was the closest thing to the real thing she could have for nine months. Her trembling hands grasped the cool porcelain.   
The taste was worse than she remembered. It was so weak. She swallowed it down.  
“Enough. I cannot watch you swallow another drop,” Draco said. “Order a normal cup.”  
“Why?”  
He made a face. “Because it is unappetizing to watch a witch struggle to choke back a tea. Just please, I’ll buy the extra cup if you order a regular, caffeinated tea.”  
It was tempting. She drank tea in times of stress. Cup after cup after cup.   
Oolong was her favorite. Then was Earl Grey as was required of her as a Brit.  
She shook her face. “I’ll stick with my decaf.”  
Draco scowled. “Just order the damn tea.”  
“No.”  
“Just tell him you want something else.”  
“Dray, no. I don’t want it.”  
“Yes. You do. I can see it in your eyes.”  
She snorted. “Then stop looking.”  
“Can’t. I know it’s there.”  
For all his difference, his stubborn nature was like the Hogwarts days.   
“Please. Stop asking questions you won’t like the answer to.”  
It did little to deter him. If anything, it fueled his need to know the reason of why she subjected herself to the taste of decaffeinated tea when she disliked it. His tirade of questions was tiring.  
She felt overcome with hunger. Food cured all these days.   
After a full tasting menu of fresh and organic beautiful bountiful cuisine, she really craved a greasy plate of chips just dripping with oil and hot salt. It made her mouth water. It truly was not the nicest day to have spent money at a gourmet restaurant. She was going to annihilate her stomach on the salty junk foods until it finally filled the hole in her heart where her marriage should be.  
“What is it? Have you started a new diet in which you can’t consume caffeine?” Draco snorted. “Because all that chocolate you like has caffeine too.”  
The insult to her chocolate ruptured her thoughts. “Chocolate has minimal amounts of caffeine. Barely enough worth mentioning.”  
“Diet’s don’t care,” Draco said. “Besides, you don’t need to diet. You’re rail thin. What on earth would you want to diet for? Is it something that Pansy said? Because her arse is not going to fit in her tight wedding dress does not mean you must diet with her.”  
“Godric, Draco. No. It is none of those things,” she said.  
He was lost. Lost and frustrated.   
“Then what? What could possibly make you consume decaf?”   
“There are reasons people cannot drink caffeine other than dieting!”  
“Name them,” he growled.  
Her mind did not move as fast as she would have liked. It sputtered around ‘Pregnancy’ for a rather long time.  
“Anxiety disorder sufferers are discouraged from consuming caffeine.”  
His eyes narrowed. “You don’t have anxiety.”  
“It promotes better sleep and mood.”  
She thought she had him at that reason, but he was swifter than she anticipated. “You’ve slept just fine since first year and you drank regular tea then. And your moods are always wildly inconsistent. That’s not caffeine fault. It’s the Gryffindor in you. Next.”  
“Uh, skin aging?”  
He growled. “For Salazar sake. You look younger than I do. And that’s a crime. Honestly. Do you have any other more convincing reasons?”  
“Ha. Yes, well there’s always pregnancy,” she blurted.  
Draco changed in an instant. He was up in his seat, leaned across the table. His eyes wide and vulnerable. Something in his face relaxed yet tight with anticipation.   
His Adam’s Apple danced in his throat as he swallowed many times. “Are – Are you?”  
Two pink lines. Two little pink lines determined their fate. No matter what a contract with Lucius stated, Draco and Hermione would forever be linked by a child neither of them could deny.   
Hermione tried to calm the shaking of her hands. Alas she could not stop the thrill and terror she felt.  
“I am.”  
He was so overcome with joy that he practically leapt across the table and gathered her up in a tight embrace. His lips fluttered across her hairline, down her chins, the tip of her nose. Draco breathed in her scent deep and long, shaking the entire time.  
“Good girl,” he muttered. “Merlin, I’m so proud of you.”  
“I don’t care what Lucius says. Or the law. You’re going to be a father to my child. That’s all that matters.”  
Draco breathed. “But that’s just it. Now we’re free. The contract will work. You’ll be accepted as a true Malfoy. Our marriage won’t be broken by any magical laws.”  
She gazed up with hesitant eyes. “What?”  
“The contract stipulated that a pregnancy must be formed with seven months of the marriage or the marriage was null and void in the eyes of the law,” Draco said excitedly as his hands ran through her hair and his lips kissed her wet cheeks without care who saw. “We did it, love. We beat him.”  
Hermione started a tearful celebration. She sobbed in her chair in the middle of an empty restaurant as her husband tried to reassure the wait staff that he was not the culprit of her sadness but rather, it was the source of her surmounted stress.  
He offered his hands out to each waiter while they were bewildered in the interaction. Draco smiled the entire time.  
“I’m going to be a father,” he told them. “I’m going to have a child with my wife. That woman crying right there is the middle of this place is carrying my heir.”  
___________________________________________________________________________________________

Seven months later, Hermione was swollen to the size of a balloon nearly ready to pop at a moment’s notice. She was all belly. Her small body upheld a massive watermelon beneath her shirt as she roamed the halls of the Ministry.   
Her husband was to accompany her to the ultrasound at the muggle doctors office. Draco demanded his presence for every appointment. It was his child in there. He was there to support to two most important things in his world. Things that were almost taken away by his own father.  
The headlines buzzed with news of their child. It was called their ‘savior baby’ as it ‘saved their marriage’. Not from the bonds of archaic magical law so outdated by the current times and so overlooked by the elderly Wizengamot. No, no. It was their savior for their ‘tumultuous marriage that nearly cost them their lives in the wizarding world’ by the denial of the Lineage Act in lieu of chasing boyfriends of their own. Draco, being a closet homosexual, and Hermione being a total slag.   
All the reputable papers relayed versions of _The Daily Prophet_ ’s trash in one way or another.  
It was wildly debated whether the baby was Ron Weasley’s, also. That really made her feel comforted by the wizarding world. There were calculated images of what the baby would look like as a Weasley ‘brat’ or a Malfoy ‘heir’ which circulated across the globe. Much to her embarrassment.  
Viktor Krum wrote to recount a tale of how he was forced to defend her honor against a wealthy socialite that believed Hermione a money-grubbing whore out for money from a pureblood prince, as it was depicted in the papers rather than the accurate account of their relationship. It made her cry happy tears over the morning paper as she read his letter. By the end of it, the parchment was too smudged and soggy for Draco to read.   
The Ministry was filled with many. It was last day before a large hearing amongst the Wizengamot over the redaction over ancient family magical law. Draco spearheaded the repeal of the law after their near divorce. It led to a large shift in the wizarding world. Many were bound beneath laws of their families in one way or another. Total chaos seemed to rule as the matter was fought hard against.  
Purebloods were against the repeal. A fact that Draco struggled with immensely. It was his life that was nearly ruined by a contract bound in family magic without his permission. Many others just like him were beneath contracts similar. Why they went against something that bettered their lives and gave freedoms that were otherwise not experienced was a mystery.   
It was with Hermione’s endless support of time spent away from her that Draco was able to achieve such success in his career. The dedication to the breaking of family magical laws was from his unfathomable depths.   
It was the day before and much was to be done within the Ministry if such a law was to be deemed illegal. All departments were tasked with the new objectives and policies to be drawn up should the law repeal. The Ministry was to set the precedent.   
The Auror department was forced to update regulations. Additional training was not well received. The Aurors were trained in many high conflict circumstances. Responding to complaints of ancient family magic was one of the more boring sides of the job.   
Harry despised the idea of having to deal with family magic. “It’s going to be messy. Everyone yelling. Crying. Families torn apart.”  
“I almost had _my_ family ripped apart by family magical contracts, Harry,” she reminded him. “It would have ruined my child’s life. And mine. I don’t know what I’d have done without Draco.”  
“But that’s different, Mione. Lucius is an evil man.”  
She groaned. “He wasn’t when he wrote it. It was not written with malicious intent. It was written as a contract so that his son might find a relationship guaranteed to spawn into future Malfoy’s. All it did was ensure that his family wealth stayed within a family that continued with offspring. But it was still the intent to control his son’s life without his permission and no way to stop it once the contract was set.”  
Harry shook out his black locks. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t it just be easier to make some way for contracts to be repealed rather than removing the whole damn family magic? People are pissed about it, you know. It changes their whole magical traditions.”  
“They can continue their family tradition of contract. They just can’t be linked to family magic where failure to comply with the stated perimeters effectively ruins lives under contract. That is not what the new Ministry believes in,” she said. “It is time to reform our world. The wizarding world has been stuck in the past for too long.”  
It was challenging that a wizard like Harry was reluctant to change the world. It was what his life’s worth was all throughout school. He believed in change. He believed in the power of choice and of good.   
His old age and experiences as an Auror had bittered him. The long nights without sleep as he cared for a baby with colic did not do well for his emotional wellbeing either.   
However, he was always the wizard with whom she’d help save the world, and Harry would always have that special place in her heart. He was her best friend. His age told a story of his loss. The pains of survival through a war were not only shared by him. They all wore their scars. Hermione’s may have been visible with short sleeves, but Harry’s were there in his mental state.  
Hermione suspected the grief. It was too large to overcome without sacrifice. What was lost was his hope. The youthful idea that things would turn out only if good people fought for them.   
An Auror was faced with dangerous tasks every day. Harry saw awful witches and wizards. Their aftermath. It was obvious that his history with death and destruction killed parts of his soul that were so innocent and precious as a teenager. Real life hit him hard.  
Such was reality and the truth of adulthood. They all gave up things that were once etched into their soul.  
Hermione passed by Arthur’s office. He waved through his window.   
Soon enough his head popped out. “Any news?”  
“Not yet,” she answered in a sing-song voice. “We see the doctor shortly.”  
“Can’t wait,” Arthur said. “I’ve bet George it’s a girl.”  
She laughed. “So, I take it he thinks it’s a boy?”  
Arthur chuckled like Father Christmas in his holly jolly way. “No. He bet twin girls. How’s that for a bet, eh?”  
“Twins?” She repeated in disbelief. “As blessed as I am, I don’t think it’s twins.”  
“Really?’ Arthur said. “Can we just keep it to ourselves then? Don’t want him changing his bet now, do we?”  
Hermione waved at him dismissively as she passed. The Weasley’s and their gambling problem. Nothing was off limits for that family to bet on. All while behind their mother’s back! It was a shame they were so quick to place money on things that should only be motivated on chance.   
The swell of her stomach caught the attention of all who passed by. Their briefcases and stacks of memos in hand did little to distract them from a glimpse at the mysterious Malfoy mistress. She’d managed to duck photographers for the papers for most of her pregnancy. Only a few blurry shots from faraway corners managed to make it on the front-page stories.   
After her marriage to Draco Malfoy, the organization that was operated, managed and ran turned rather guarded. It was a hot topic to provide support for the Magical creatures of the world. Some disagreed with her stance on magical creature rights and others really disliked her marriage to an ex-Death Eater.   
There were a few veiled threats sent in through her assistant. Owls at all times of night laced in ominous warning. Draco demanded that either she resigned from her post or minimalize their exposure to the public.   
It said something that it was not creatures and beasts that he feared. Many of them were capable of murder. But it was the same society that worshipped them both at one point. That was what scared him.  
Hermione opted for a lift rather than the stairs. Her back ached to hoist herself a flight of stairs longer than the ones at home. Since the Ministry rose stories into the air, she took the blessed reprieve.   
Not to her surprise, Draco’s assistant awaited her arrival. He offered her a cup of fresh tea – decaf to her disgust – and choice of a snack. She declined the snack.   
“I had granola on the way.” She smiled.  
She threw herself down onto Draco’s couch the moment she burst in the room. He was startled from his letter so much that it splattered black ink across his other papers.  
She did not care. Her feet hurt. And her back hurt. And she was so hot.  
Hermione pulled off her jumper. “Do you have to work on the ninth level of this bloody place?”  
“I was willing to meet at the office.”  
Draco worked his wand over the stains. The ink rose from the blemishes upon the aged yellow, formed droplets in the air, and then fluttered over to the resting inkwell at his side. He ran his hands down their lengths. All of it had to be in place.   
“You’d have forgotten with all this nonsense,” she said. “I think anyone who’s mildly linked to the Ministry is in the building.”  
Draco smirked. “As much as I’d like to take credit for changing their schedules. It is not all my doing. There is a large sporting event coming up that has them all in a roar in International Co-op. One minor detail change is a disaster in that office. I warned them what they got when they hired Theo Nott.”  
He glided over to the couch where his lovely wife laid. He bent down and kissed her forehead. “Besides, nothing could have me forget the day that I might finally lay eyes on my child.”  
“We’ve seen it before.”  
“Ah, that word. I can’t stand it. ‘It’. We do not know whether to call it a witch or a wizard. Maddening that little bugger. I’ll just bet it is my son giving us all this grief.” He grasped both sides of her belly and spoke against her flesh. “You want to keep mummy and daddy guessing, don’t you?”  
His breath tickled her flesh. She withheld the growing need to giggle.  
The storm grey eyes that she had come to adore aligned with hers. “I found one that is perfect.”  
Oh Merlin. “If it is Salazar, I swear I’ll divorce you.”  
He wrinkled his nose. “I’d like to believe I’m a bit more subtle than that, my dearest. I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Slytherin’.”   
Her jaw dropped. “We are not naming our child after your Hogwarts House! That would be like naming it Harry Potter.”  
The childish rivalry on which Draco and Harry used to feed was infamous. Events which both attended prompted high press attention in the hopes that a brawl would happen in the middle of a charity gala for orphaned children.  
Still, neither were confident in the other. Their eyes narrowed in suspicion every time they entered a room where the other was present. Draco was once given the wrong order at a restaurant and he believed it was Harry Potter’s doing. And Harry was convinced that Malfoy had paid off a Quidditch player to throw the match all because his favorite team lost the World Cup.   
It was ridiculous.   
“Please do not name our child Harry Potter.”  
“Please don’t make me.”  
There was a risen fear of what Hermione might do when pushed to the point. Draco scrambled quickly for another idea that would not result in his child being named after a person he loathed.  
“What about Aurora? For a witch.”  
“Aurora.” The name was new to her tongue. She had not known an Aurora in her years. “I like it. It’s different. Like, Apollo.”  
He rolled his head back and groaned. “No. Not Apollo again.”  
She was unabashed of her love of the name. It was darling. Apollo Malfoy sounded so right. “What? It’s cute.” Her mouth quieted a moment as she thought of another name. “At least consider Morgan.”  
Draco shook his head with a smile. “You’re impossible.”  
The glint in her eye gave her a wicked delight. It was too long that Draco Malfoy had his way. Thanks to that Lineage Act, an added bonus of their marriage was that somebody finally prevented him from having too much fun being the wealthy elite of an ancient family.  
Lucius, imprisoned in Azkaban, was likely to have heard the news by now. Hermione liked to believe the guards were good hearted people, but it would not be above the realm of possibility that there were a few taunts of his soiled bloodline. The ending of the era of pure Malfoys. His son the last of their kind.   
After all the destruction in the world, thank heaven for that. They needed to be given a sharp dose of reality.  
The repeal of the family magic was just the same as the forced copulation between purebloods and those with less than hundred percent ancestry. The Lineage Act forced those with whom they would not have otherwise chosen to be mates in a permanent way. It was with the slightest exception that the marriages would be dissolved (in extreme cases of violence and abuse) but those in and of themselves were too impossible to detect.   
In the way that Hermione and Draco were brought together, the next day they’d seek to destroy something similar. What justice was that?  
“Do you think our child will be forced to marry like we were?” Her hand rested against her stomach. The little being inside kicked and pushed its legs out through her skin. An alien creature buried inside of her.   
She was so ready to meet their little baby. It hurt her heart to not have a baby to hold when it was all she wanted.  
Draco kneeled alongside her. A hand of his held the edge of her jaw with a pitiful smile. “Not a chance. By then, the population will be in good number and the Lineage Act will be disbanded. They’ll be free. Free to make their own choice.”  
Freedom. It was all she fought for.  
The war lost many things. So many lives were taken over the fight for freedom. She yearned for the future they were promised all those years ago in aligning with the light. A world without discrimination and hatred. A world were the status of one’s birth hindered nothing in their way of success. That the dark magic of the world would never gain control of those elected to protect.  
Hermione wished for that end with all her heart. It was the only thing that made the night terrors worth it.  
“I’d choose you, Dray. After everything that happened and how we got here, I’d choose you every time.”  
“If only we could have known sooner,” his voice murmured. “We might have saved all the wasted ink in those papers.”  
Hermione startled to laugh. He always knew how to do that. It was so silly to think of the press at a time like that, but he managed, as he magically did, to find a way to laugh at it all.   
She loved to laugh. It made her stomach hurt some days where he cracked joke after joke. He tickled her senseless until she couldn’t breathe.   
Draco brought a happiness to her life that she couldn’t ever remember feeling before.  
“What did I do without you?” She said so lovingly as she gave his cheek a soft kiss.  
“You had Potter and Weasel to get you in trouble,” he answered.  
She hummed. “Oh, yeah. The good ole days.”  
The chime of a clock attracted Draco’s grey gaze. His eyes flashed up to the clock face and then beheld his wife’s face. “Hop it, My. We’re going to be late for our date with our child.”  
Draco was a doll. He grabbed all of Hermione’s things that she was no longer able to wear in the heat of the day. He shrank them all into his pocket, knowing all too well that she’d ask for her jumper very soon.   
His smirk was a brilliant light that he loved to shine as he walked with his wife on his arm. Hermione fit against his side, even with her stomach swollen with the womb of their child. She always molded into him like a puzzle piece.  
They hustled down the road to the muggle clinic where they’d seen a doctor for the duration of the pregnancy. Muggles were more hands-on with birth and delivery than magical people were. And Draco adored every minute of it. Every test they performed that gave them an intimate view of just how their child developed made him very proud to have married a muggleborn with access to such medical marvels.   
Draco held onto his wife’s hand in the waiting room. He watched numerous women of various size flow in and out of the room. Their faces evolved from the blinding hopeful eyes of a newly confirmed pregnancy to the exhausted eyes that matched those of his wife’s.   
She tapped him now. His ear perked alive to listen to her voice.  
“Did I tell you about the Weasley’s bet?”  
“Which one?” He grumbled. “All they do is gamble.”  
She sighed. “I know. Their mother will have their hides if she ever finds out. No, they’ve bet on what we’ll find out today. Arthur bets we’ll have a girl.”  
“What does Potter say?”   
“Gin, Ron and Harry all believe it’s a boy,” she said. “I’ve not heard what Charlie and Bill think. They’re the better, more responsible ones in that family. Not always betting. Fleur thinks it’s disrespects the child to guess as to who they are. She said that they will show in their own time.”  
He snickered. “You forgot one.” His brow lifted. “What does Willy Wonka say?”  
“George bet it’ll be a girl, too. Only two of them.”  
“I beg your pardon?” Draco gawked.   
An attendant walked out through a pair of double doors with a clipboard. She glanced at the name. “Granger? Mr. and Mrs. Granger.”  
Draco did not like being called a Granger, but it was required for secrecy. If anyone heard the name Malfoy, they might ask questions. The beginning appointments were more upsetting than they were now. He responded quickly to their name. Hermione guessed he was anxious to finally reveal their child’s sex.  
They were shown into the dimly lit room. Hermione was instructed to lift up her shirt.   
Draco sat by as the male attendant rolled down the hem of Hermione’s stretchy pants with a very noted stare. She reached up and comforted his jealousy. It was a medical professional for Godric’s sake. They were here to view their child. She doubted, seriously, that the technician was there to make a move on her.  
“First child?” The technician asked as he pressed buttons on the machine.   
Draco bristled. “What makes you say that?”  
She rolled her eyes.  
“I sense some tension,” the man said with a smile. “First time parents are always anxious with their ultrasounds. I can assure you that everything has been charted as normal growth and expectation. We are just here for a little check on the bugger. Might try to get a glimpse as whether it is a boy or girl.”  
Hermione smiled. “We got measurements of everything else, but it wouldn’t sit still long enough to get a look.”  
“Some of those babies just love to stretch out. By now though, the room is getting a little cramped. It might have slowed down enough for us to get a good look.”   
The gel was squirted on her pale skin. The wand was set down.   
Draco watched the man as he worked, only glimpsing at the screen every few moments to check on his child. Hermione smiled as best as she could manage. The pressure applied was sometimes uncomfortable when he pressed down.  
“Well the space is definitely tight in there. Can’t move too much now.” The technician looked down to their confused faces. “That’s a good thing. They are growing.”  
Many minutes went by as he moved the wand atop her belly. Up and then down. Back again.   
Her entire stomach was encased with a sticky layer of slime while they’d still to learn of their child’s sex. Hermione nibbled on her bottom lip.  
“Is everything alright?” She finally asked.  
Draco was suddenly tense.   
The technician nodded. “Yeah. I just can’t seem to find a way that isn’t blocked by limbs. Is baby moving right now?”  
She shook her head. “No.”  
“Hm.”  
It was torture to endure the next few minutes in total silence as the screen of white and black and grey changed as he skimmed the surface. The technician suddenly started counting. Something. They were unsure.  
“I can’t tell what a bloody thing is on that telly,” Draco whispered.  
Hermione herself was not able to understand what reach up to eight in a baby. She strained her eyes to discover what showed on the screen.  
Finally the man sighed. “Well I’ve discovered our problem.” He turned and looked down at the two frightened and concerned parents. “We’ve got too much baby in this little space. I count up to eight limbs in here.”  
Draco gripped the edge of the bed. “What are you saying? Wha-what does that mean?”  
“Congratulations. Mum, Dad, you’re having twins,” the man said. “Girls by the look of it.”  
Draco and Hermione both let their jaws fall open.   
“Twins?” Hermione questioned in a daze. “Are you certain?”  
“It’s not uncommon to discover a twin later.”  
She started to breathe heavily. “Well no one told me.”  
Draco started to laugh. Hermione was horrified. She looked up at him with bewildered confusion.  
“Thank you, sir.” He offered out his hand to the technician. He glanced down at his wife, still lost in the total shock of it all. “We owe George a pint.”


End file.
